


Too Important

by tupti



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, First Kiss, Forehead Touching, Gentle Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Says "Hmm", Hair Washing, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, I REGRET NOTHING, I don't know, Idiots in Love, Jaskier is cold and needs to be warmed up, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Yes again, it's my thing, self-conscious!Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23327008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tupti/pseuds/tupti
Summary: Jaskier just wanted a nice, relaxing evening. But you don’t talk badly about Geralt in his presence and get away with it…
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 604





	Too Important

It was one of these rare days when their coffer was filled to the brim. With some gentle coaxing, or, as Geralt called it, unrelenting nagging, Jaskier had been able to convince the Witcher to spend some of their hard-won earnings on a nice room in a nice inn and just relax for one evening. Usually the bard didn’t pass up on any opportunity to perform, but for once it felt good to just eat supper in a quiet corner and mind one’s own business. A day off, so to speak.

Five men sat around a table not far from them. They whispered constantly and sometimes turned their heads into their direction. Geralt didn’t seem to notice and Jaskier forced himself not to. This evening was supposed to be full of ale and food and maybe some carnal pleasure later on and nothing else. They certainly weren’t looking for trouble.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” The bard pushed his emptied plates away from him. When was the last time he had felt so full that he couldn’t even think about food anymore? “If only everyone paid as well as that pompous earl did.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt hadn’t eaten more than he normally did. He was his usual tense self, alert eyes flitting through the room constantly. At least, Jaskier had been able to convince him to leave his armour and his swords in their room. The loose shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, gave him a somewhat less threatening air.

“Just relax for once, will you?”, Jaskier sighed. “Here, I’ll get you another ale.”

“No need.” The Witcher got up from the table. “I’ll check on Roach, see if she’s warm enough.”

“Of course.”

Jaskier leaned back in his chair and watched Geralt leave. He knew that caring for Roach would calm down the Witcher way more than sitting in a stuffy parlour surrounded by people, so he didn’t argue.

When Geralt slipped through the door, the bard was hit by an icy gust that made him shiver. Winter was already hanging in the air – one of the reasons why he had so stubbornly insisted on staying at an inn. The Witcher might not feel the biting cold, but he certainly did.

As soon as the door fell shut behind Geralt, the five men he had so desperately tried not to notice laughed.

“Fucking Witcher!” One of them belched very loudly, then added. “We should get everyone together, run him out of town.”

The other four nodded emphatically.

“He’s a fucking butcher, he shouldn’t be allowed around decent people.”

“Damn right!”

Jaskier bit his lip and shut his eyes. _Do not engage_ , a voice inside him pleaded. _Do. Not. Engage._

“He’s a menace, is what he is. Robbing decent folk of their money for fighting monsters, when _he’s_ the actual monster.”

“Oh, really?” Jaskier rose from his seat and crossed his arms in front of his chest. _You idiot_ , the voice said and rolled its metaphorical eyes, but he ignored it.

The five burly men turned their heads as one and looked him over.

“Yeah, really”, one of them grunted.

Another one got up and stepped close to Jaskier. He towered over him and the bard had to look up to see his face, but he did not move an inch.

“He’s a monster”, the man repeated, “and he should be put down like the animal that he is.”

That was the last straw it needed to push Jaskier over the edge.

  
  


Geralt’s senses picked up some racket from the inn. He tried to shut it out. Probably some drunkards getting into a brawl. None of his business. He patted Roach on the neck.

“Humans”, he sighed and she neighed softly in agreement. When she tried to nibble at his pockets, he gently pushed her away. “You had enough apples for one day. I know how Jaskier spoils you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the extra pounds.” Indignant, she puffed air through her nostrils and Geralt laughed quietly. He gave her another pat. “Now he’s trying to spoil me too. Gods, he’s stubborn.”

The racket died down, but the Witcher hung around the stable a little longer. In his experience, it had never been a good idea to walk into a charged atmosphere. Often enough his appearance had been a spark that set a flame alight. At least the horses didn’t seem bothered by his presence.

When he finally walked back to the inn, he was so lost in thought, that he almost didn’t notice the curled up figure lying just around the corner of the building. He frowned when the smell hit him. It was mingled with the sharp coppery overtones of blood, but he would have recognised it anywhere.

“Jaskier.”

He hurried over to the bard who was lying face down in the mud, not moving. When he turned him on his back, he came to. Even in the dark Geralt could easily make out the blood on his face, his crooked nose, the black eye. Most of all, he noticed how the bard trembled with cold. How long had he been lying outside for?

He pulled Jaskier up from the ground, but he could hardly stand on his own, so Geralt had to hold him tightly to keep him steady.

“What the fuck happened?”

The bard tried to form words, but his teeth chattered so much, he couldn’t get a single word out. Geralt grabbed him at the back of his doublet, a little more roughly than he had intended to, and dragged him inside.

The inn was almost empty. The few patrons that remained glanced at them and then quickly looked away. Geralt moved Jaskier towards the bar. Once they stopped, the bard pressed himself close to him and buried his head into the warmth of Geralt’s chest. The Witcher hesitated at first, but then he put an arm around his shivering companion and pulled him even closer to get some heat back into his body.

“I need a fire going and a bath in our room, now”, he growled at the innkeeper.

The woman huffed. “Why, of course, mylord”, she replied sarcastically. “Perchance filled with goat’s milk and rose petals? I see you are a man of luxurious taste.”

Keeping a straight face, the Witcher reached into his pocket with his free hand and slammed a gold coin onto the counter. “Hot water will do.”

The innkeeper took the money and her eyes grew round with excitement. “Of course, sir. At once.” She gave a nod to one of the barmaids, who immediately scuttled away.

“A feisty little kitten you got there.” She pointed her chin towards Jaskier.

“Why? What happened?”

“Well, after you left, some folk didn’t talk too kindly about you.” The innkeeper looked at him intently as if to gauge his reaction, but wasn’t given one. “Your friend here wouldn’t have it. He took on five men, each of them twice as broad as him, just because they said some ugly things about you. Even got some blows in, too. There were some broken teeth and noses, I believe, but I wouldn’t know for sure. I asked them to kindly take their business outside.”

Geralt growled, but refrained from clocking the woman for her indifference towards Jaskier’s health. They couldn’t afford to get thrown out now, not with the bard being in the state that he was in.

“Who were they?”

The innkeeper shook her head. “Can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because judging from the look in your eyes, you’re going to murder them if I do. That would lose me a lot of money going forward.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier let out a soft whimper. He was still shaking from the cold and was probably in pain. So the Witcher left it at that with the innkeeper. He leaned down to reach his arm under Jaskier’s knees, lifted him up and carried him upstairs.

He ran into the maid who was just leaving their room. Her eyes went wide when she found herself face to face with the Witcher. Hurriedly, she curtsied. “Your bath is ready, sir.”

“Thank you”, Geralt muttered, but the maid already stormed off as if she was afraid to stay too close to him for too long.

It didn’t matter, he was used to it. He let Jaskier slide down from his arms, once they were inside their room and started to peel off his clothing.

“Nooo”, the bard whined. Even though a fire was crackling and heating up the place, he still trembled like a leaf.

Geralt sighed in exasperation. “Jaskier, come one, just let me…”

But the bard, barely conscious, tried to push him away. “I’m sooo cold.”

“I know, I just…” The Witcher stopped for a moment to collect himself. Impatience wouldn’t get him anywhere, so he carefully took Jaskier’s face between his hands to focus him.

“Jaskier, listen.” He forced himself to speak softly. “Are you listening?” The bard nodded. “Good. Look, there is a bathtub filled with hot water right next to you. You need to let me undress you, so you can get in, alright?”

Another nod. More gently this time, Geralt brushed Jaskier’s doublet from his shoulders, pulled off his shirt and then knelt down in front of him to peel him out of his boots and socks and breeches, while the bard held on to his shoulders to not fall over. After that was done, he helped him climb into the steaming hot water, then he crouched next to the tub.

With a sigh Jaskier relaxed into the warmth. Geralt took the opportunity to look him over closely. His injuries were mostly superficial, he noticed with relief. The men had probably tried to avoid angering the Witcher too much by seriously hurting his companion or they just weren’t as cold-blooded as their talk might make them appear. He had heard every word they had been whispering during their supper and had hoped that the bard’s human hearing couldn’t pick it up. Apparently, they had gotten braver only after the Witcher had left.

It took a while, but finally Jaskier stopped trembling. His chest rose and fell in a steady, hypnotising rhythm now.

“Feeling better?”, Geralt asked, just to make sure he hadn’t lost consciousness again.

“Fuck, yes”, Jaskier muttered. He opened his eyes and smiled softly. “Oh, Geralt, this is what I was talking about, when I said I wanted to relax.”

“Really? Was being beaten up part of the plan?”

“Well, no. But this part, I like.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt got up from where he had been sitting and went through one of their bags. When he returned, he held a clean piece of cloth in his hand. He sat on the rim of the tub, dipped the cloth into the water and lightly dabbed at Jaskier’s face to wash away the blood.

The bard groaned. “Ouch.”

“Still part of your relaxation programme?”

“Not quite.”

Geralt continued to gently clean the blood away in silence. When he spoke, after a while, his voice sounded uncharacteristically soft and vulnerable.

“Why did you do it?”

He didn’t look Jaskier in the eyes, but focused his attention on his bloody cheek. The bard winced.

“Hold still!”

Geralt caught his chin between strong yet surprisingly gentle fingers to keep him in place and continued to wash the blood away, even more carefully than before.

“You should have heard what they said about you”, Jaskier explained.

“I can imagine. Monster, abomination, butcher?”

“Something like that.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier caught Geralt’s hand in his to stop him from dividing his attention.

“Doesn’t that bother you at all?”

The Witcher wrenched himself free and gingerly dipped Jaskier’s head back to work on his lower lip and chin. The bard let him.

“I had time to get used to it. Before you came along…” Geralt hesitated. He didn’t talk about past things when he could avoid it. They usually weren’t worth it. But if Jaskier had to know… “Before you came along, that was everyone’s usual reaction towards me. It doesn’t happen often nowadays, with you and your songs, but when I’m on my own, then it still does sometimes.”

“Geralt…” Jaskier lifted his head again to look him in the eyes. “I didn’t know that. I mean, yes, I knew they called you Butcher of Blaviken behind your back and all, but this… And they still do it?”

“I don’t mind.”

The Witcher got up again to grab a jug from their washing table. He filled it with the warm water from the tub and poured it over Jaskier’s hair. He brushed his hand through the strands to rid it of the earth and leaves that had tangled up there while the bard had been lying outside.

Jaskier wanted to ask more questions, wanted to know everything the Witcher never talked about, but this felt too good. He moaned softly as Geralt repeated the rinse and then carded his fingers through his hair, carefully massaging his scalp while he did.

When the pitcher was empty, Geralt placed it down and sat on the rim of the tub again. He cleared his throat and looked down at his hands.

“I never thanked you, did I?”

“What for?”

“For making my life better.”

He looked up and into Jaskier’s eyes, unsure and nervous. But the rapt smile on the bard’s face robbed him of the uncertainty and almost made him laugh.

“I make your life better? Really?”

“Hmm.”

Carried along by a sudden surge of courage Jaskier took Geralt’s hand in his and kissed it.

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. And I have heard a lot of sweet-talking in my life.”

He looked up through his lashes into the Witcher’s eyes, but Geralt turned away. He swallowed hard, then pulled his hand from the bard’s and got up. “Just… don’t do that again. Don’t let yourself get hurt for me. I’m not worth it. The Gods know, they are right to call me all of that.”

Jaskier frowned. “What are you saying?” He grabbed the Witcher’s arm and pulled him back down once more to sit on the rim. “Look at me!” And Geralt did. “Never, ever, say anything like that again! You’re are not a monster, you are not an abomination and you are not a butcher. Do you hear me? _They_ are monsters for making you feel like you are.”

He fixed his gaze on Geralt, then he put his hands on both sides of his face to tug him down and kiss him.

For a second he feared the Witcher would pull away, but then he felt him relax into the kiss, letting Jaskier deepen it. After a moment, Geralt even put his hands around Jaskier’s neck to pull him closer. With gentle fingers he caressed his hair, while his other hand travelled down the side of the bard’s neck and to his chest, where it came to rest over his heart. It almost seemed to burn into his skin and Jaskier felt like he could never be cold again.

Finally, the Witcher pulled away, but only slightly. His face was still so close that the bard could feel his breath against his flushed cheeks.

“I’m serious, Jaskier”, he muttered, his voice barely audible. “Don’t let yourself get hurt again. You’re too important to me.”

Jaskier’s breath hitched. “Oh, Geralt…” He softly touched his forehead to the Witcher’s. “I can’t promise that. I just can’t. You’re too important to me.”

  
  



End file.
